Allologue 6
Third Wheel of Biltenth, After Calamity 922 Anguish sat at the bar looking at the empty glasses arrayed before her. She was interested in mortal custom, and toasting victory after a hard-won battle seemed to be one of them. She was not expecting all of the soldiers to want to buy her a drink, however, and she suspected that even with her fiendish constitution, this was quickly becoming out of hand. The lights around her blurred ever so slightly, and a warm, fuzzy sensation had settled into the pit of her stomach. The room was filled with raucous laughter as her men enjoyed themselves around her, though she remained firmly rooted to her bar stool so that she could keep her head over her feet. It had been several years since the mortal known as McTavitt had freed her from her prison within the Tomb of Memory, and longer still since she had experienced the thrill of battle. Alongside McTavitt there had been a few roving packs of undead and bandit incursions, and today’s briefing seemed as if it would promise more of the same small scale skirmishes. Anguish was delighted to learn that the magi had more than double the strength of arms than they had originally assessed. The secret sect of magi had kept hidden the locations of the four Fanes of the Devoured, locations from which the dark god could be restored to life or used to some other end. Which one McTavitt intended, she did not know. As far as he was concerned, it was enough that he had finally made good on the promises he had made when he drew her into his fold several years prior. The blood had flowed freely, and Anguish recalled with satisfaction the moment when, after breaking their forces, she had crushed under her boot the skull of one of the magi leaders. He then clinked his glass against hers and drank deeply. The rest of the tavern erupted into cheers, and though she downed her own glass in kind, she was surprised to find her other hand gripped tightly around the pommel of the sword once known as the Brightblade. She mentally pried her fingers from the sword, finished her glass, and set it down on the bar. She then excused herself to her rooms. The accommodations at the tavern were not those which she was accustomed to in the palaces of Mephistopheles, but all of the mortal lodgings she had experienced thus far remained a fair sight better than those she had suffered while a prisoner of Acererak. She slumped into the single desk chair provided. When she looked up, a great grin was plastered across her face. “So, can’t hold your liquor?” Dyana said. Though her words were slurred, Lady Dyana Brightblade was once again in control of her body for the first time in what seemed like ages. Immediately she crossed the room unsteadily and opened the only window. Looking down to see that there was more than street to land on below, Dyana tipped out of the window and plummeted onto a produce cart that had been parked below. She sprang out of the carriage to her feet and began a meandering sprint towards the town’s edge, hoping to put enough distance between her and McTavitt before he realized she was missing. She could see that the tower of the magi still burned, and the smoke curling up from it was mingling with the thick black clouds overhead. Though it was daytime, the sky was dim and the streets below were all but deserted. No one tried to stop her as she crossed the border of the edge of town into the woods beyond. As Dyana fled through the woods, making significant headway as she used the Brightblade to carve a path through the brush, her movement was arrested abruptly. Anguish sheathed her blade and turned back the way they came. “A valiant effort,” she said to the other consciousness within her. “But you will have to do more to be rid of me.” Category:Allologue